


From This Time Forth, and Even Forevermore

by Anwamane_13



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Demon Dean, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mark of Cain, Metatron Being a Dick, POV Sam Winchester, Season/Series 10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 08:08:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5658931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anwamane_13/pseuds/Anwamane_13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fulfilling a prompt for 2015 D/C Secret Santa, requested by Victumbraticum.<br/>It's more a mix of the prompts. </p><p>Dean is a demon, and Sam and Castiel try to cure him. But the cure proves to be even more dangerous, and Dean is destined to die again, only to wake up as a demon once more. The Mark of Cain's hold on him is too  strong. Castiel needs to fix this, even if it means he'll die in the process. He can't let Dean die and be a demon again. He loves him too much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From This Time Forth, and Even Forevermore

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Victumbraticum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Victumbraticum/gifts).



> This is a work of fan fiction. No money is being made with this story. The characters are property of the CW. You all know this. I'm just writing for fun. So please, don't sue.
> 
> There are quotes taken directly from the episodes. They are also property of the CW. No infringement was intended. There was no other way to write a scene that happened in canon without them.
> 
> To Victumbraticum: I tried to write something with all the elements you like: season 10, demon!Dean, hurt!Dean. I did my best, and I sincerely hope you like it.

                                   

 

 

** From This Time Forth, and Even Forevermore **

****

****

If Dean stops to think about it, being a demon is not that bad. He heals quickly, he can drink the whole bar if he wants to without damaging his liver forever, he can have sex all night long without getting tired, he can get in as much fights as he wants and he always gets the upper hand, and no one, no one messes with him. Not bad for a dead guy, huh?

 

Besides, Crowley is kinda funny.

 

Well, not really.

 

In fact, Crowley is needy. Dean would pity him if Crowley deserved anyone’s pity. But really, he seems lonely. It almost looks like he never had a friend. He’s always around, always wanting Dean’s opinion about this and that, always speaking with that annoying pompous accent of his. Dean doesn’t want to be Crowley’s new best friend, but it looks like this is exactly what Crowley wants. And what Crowley wants, Crowley gets, right?

 

Wrong. Dean’s going to change that. Tomorrow he’s gonna tell the guy to get lost, he’s gonna tell him that he needs space; he wants to enjoy his new life without Crowley’s interference, thank you very much.

 

But today, Crowley was cornered in an alley by a bunch of lesser demons that, apparently, wanted a raise – do demons even get paid? Dean will need to talk to Crowley about this, because money never seems to be a problem for the guy. Anyway, there were four annoying demons for Dean to kill, and he didn’t even think about the poor sods that owned the meat suits – the demons would torture and kill them anyway. So, Dean just went for it and killed everyone – except for Crowley, of course – using the First Blade, and the Mark of Cain in his arm throbbed in delight.

 

Dean’s already lost count of how many people he killed since he turned into a demon. Most of them were demons, like him, but a couple was human - scum bags, but human. He’s not sure why so many demons have crossed his way lately. Maybe Crowley is sending them, so Dean doesn’t kill too many humans, and it’s funny, almost as if he’s protecting Dean’s virtue, or his soul.

 

No, scratch that. Crowley is probably just using Dean to get rid of the demons he hates. And it’s not that demons can be friends, anyway, so fuck it. Besides, Dean doesn’t need anyone to worry about is soul, ‘cause he doesn’t have one anymore.

 

It’s almost liberating, really. This way nothing hurts. There’s no guilt, there are no feelings or regrets. There’s only blood, blood and more blood. There’s also booze and sex. Hell, everything is great.

 

Dean is not stupid. He knows that Crowley’s apparent “friendship” doesn’t come for free. Crowley wants him as his second in command in Hell. Dean also knows that Crowley can go fuck himself, because Dean may be a demon, but he’ll never set foot in Hell again. No sir. One time is more than enough. Especially under Crowley. Eww.

 

So yeah, today he won’t tell Crowley to leave him alone. Now that he just killed four demons and the Mark is satisfied, Dean just wants to drink all the whiskey in the world and maybe see if Anne Marie wants to hook up later tonight. She’s a great lay, and she’s got brains on her. She could be so much more than a waitress in Podunk, but that’s not Dean’s business, and he doesn’t really care. She’s beautiful and all, but the blue in her eyes isn’t even the right shade.

 

Huh. Dean has no idea why this particular thought came to his mind. Is not as if he likes blue eyes.

 

\--- --- ---

 

The rain is heavy on Dean’s windshield. He answers the phone, even though Sammy is the last person he wants to talk with. But it’s a guy, telling him to show up or he’ll kill Sammy. Well, he sincerely hope the guy is bluffing, but it’s not as if he really cares. The note he left Sam was clear: “let me go”, it said. If Sam didn’t, that’s his problem.

 

He tells the guy that he can do whatever he wants, but Dean will kill him eventually. As he says that, the Mark of Cain throbs again, as if begging him to go and kill the guy _right the fuck_ _now_. Dean sighs, and thinks that yes, he’d really like to kill the dude, but Sam is there with him, and Dean’s not sure seeing his brother would stop his killing spree. It’s a good thing Dean has no idea where they are.

 

\--- --- ---

 

Dean pushes Crowley a little bit too hard and the man – well, the demon – falls on the dirty carpet. He’s really tired of this short bastard telling him to “pick a bloody side”. He’s not afraid of Crowley; he never was afraid of the poor excuse for a King of Hell when he was human, and now that he’s… let’s say, improved… he couldn’t care less. He doesn’t give a shit when Crowley says they’re done. In fact, it’s a big relief.

 

He snorts when Crowley leaves, but he can’t get his words out of his head: why did he kill the client and not the wife? Did he really feel sorry for her? No, no, it can’t be. He’s a demon now, his twisted black soul is the one thing he’s sure about himself. He didn’t feel bad for the woman, it’s just that her stupid husband was there, and he was such an asshole that he didn’t deserve to live. It was easier to kill him, that’s all.

 

He’s still thinking about Crowley’s voice asking him if he’s a demon or a human later, when he’s alone at the bar. His hand heals in the blink of an eye, when he cuts it with the First Blade. And Sam, bless him – or not – is there, looking at Dean with that judging expression he loves to make.

 

“We know how to cure demons, remember that?” Sam says.

 

Except Dean doesn’t want to be cured. What he really wants is to rip Sam’s throat out with his teeth, and that's what he tells him. To his credit, Sam does his best to hide his own flinch, and launches into a speech about Dean being his brother. Dean can see Sam’s eyes glistening with unshed tears, and he smiles in return. Sam is suffering. That’s good. This way Sam can go back to the bunker and live the rest of his life knowing he tried to save Dean, and his conscience will be at peace.

 

Not that Dean cares about him. It’s just that Sam rarely gives up, and he really needs to give up on this “mission” to save his brother. Dean is beyond saving. He’s great, he’s stronger than ever, he’s gonna live forever. Nothing can stop him or bring him down now. The sooner Sam realizes this and goes home, the better.

 

In the end, Sam traps him, the fucker. From the back seat of the Impala, Dean sees Sam giving the First Blade to Crowley, and he really, really wants to go there and kill them both right now. He looks at Crowley and he knows that one day he’ll kill the bastard. But not now, of course, because his fucking _human_ baby brother trapped him.

 

He tells Sam exactly why he didn’t kill Cole, he says it was not mercy at all, and he smiles, seeing Sam’s horrified expression. He’s been smiling a lot lately, so much more than when he was human. It’s a good thing, because his mocking smile looks good on him. And it drives his enemies crazy.

 

“And what I’m gonna do to you, Sammy… it’s not gonna be mercy either,” he says, just to piss his brother off. He has no idea what he’s gonna do to him yet, but the Mark is demanding more blood, and this is the one thing demon Dean is powerless against: when the Mark of Cain calls, he answers.

 

\--- --- ---

 

Dean is inside the Devil’s trap and he smiles again, looking at is brother, mocking him. Sam looks determined to save him, but Dean knows this is a lost battle. He doesn’t even know what he is anymore. He was dead, but then he woke up a demon. Only, he’s not possessed, it’s his very soul that’s all twisted and corrupted. And that’s not all he is, there’s more than just demon juice inside him. The Mark of Cain is still in his arm, and even if Sam manages to cure him – or kill him again – the mark will never let him go.

 

So he smiles, and tells his brother as many hurtful things as he can, and he hopes Sam will give up, because this is a waste of time. He’s a Knight of Hell. He’s not a small, terrified human. He’s far bigger than anything he ever was, and the feeling is great. Liberating, even.

 

“For all you know you could be killing me,” Dean says, but it doesn’t work. Sam still goes on, and injects dose number three. The purified blood entering his system is more than unpleasant. It makes everything hurt, and he feels like his blood is boiling. He screams, more in rage than in pain. This shit needs to stop. “Hunters, Men of Letters… what a load of crap it all is,” he says, defiantly. He needs to make Sam stop this shit, because if he doesn’t, soon the demon in him won’t be in control anymore, and human Dean will come back.

 

He hates human Dean. He is weak. Clingy. Lonely. Human Dean is pathetic, and demon Dean despises him so much that he can’t even look at himself in the mirror, because human Dean is always there, staring back at him. Guilt ridden. Unworthy. Stupid.

 

He loses track of time. He’s drenched in cold sweat, he’s boiling from the inside, his head is pounding and his vision is blurring. Sam asks if he’s okay, and as an answer, Dean insults him even more. “I chose the King of Hell over you,” he says. “My mother would still be alive if it wasn’t for you.” He’s not playing fair, and he knows it. But hey, he’s a demon, and demons don’t play fair, ever. “Your very existence sucked the life out of my life.”

 

But Sam grimaces sadly, resigned. “This isn’t my brother talking.”

 

Dean tries once more. He says every insult he can think of, this time about Dad. It only serves to piss Sam off. And here comes injection number four. Crap. Sam leaves him alone, and Dean screams, the wave of pain so strong he wants to throw up. His vision goes black, his arms and legs throb with pain, his head feels like it’s about to explode. And the feeling of burning from the inside is always there, like he’s about to be consumed by fire.

 

He doesn’t ask for help. If he can’t keep on being a demon, the next best thing for him is death. Human Dean Winchester doesn’t deserve to live anyway. Not after everything he did.

 

\--- --- ---

 

The thing is, if you try to cure a demon, at some point the Devil’s trap will stop working. And the demon will be free, not yet completely cured.

 

That’s Sam biggest mistake: leaving Dean alone.

 

Dean opens his eyes and looks around. He must have fainted because of the pain. As he wakes up, he feels he’s different. He _knows_ he’s different. Something happened, and he’s not so full of demon juice as he was before. Shit.

 

On the other hand…

 

He tries to free himself and, surprisingly, it works. He’s been tied up so many times in his life, and he knows the type of knot that Sam uses, so it's really very easy to loosen the ropes holding his arms and legs. As for the Devil’s trap… he walks right across it with no problem at all.

 

All he feels right now is confusion and most of all, anger: at himself, at the whole world, and especially, at Sam. Who gave him the right to try to fix Dean? He was great; he was at the top of the world! Now, besides this headache that makes his head feel like it’s splitting in two, he needs to deal with his old and unwelcome human emotions trying to come back.

 

This is Sam’s fault. He should have left Dean alone.

 

Leaning on the wall for support, he waits. He needs his strength back now. Determined, he rubs at the Mark of Cain until it’s red and angry, and it starts to glow faintly. “Come on,” Dean mutters, rubbing at it again, until it hurts, until the skin on his arm is swollen. As the glow starts to get stronger, so Dean’s demon juice starts to come back. He starts to feel better, stronger.

 

Sam forgot that Dean is not possessed: being a demon is who he is, it’s inside him, in his core. And as the Mark of Cain amplifies his strength and his rage, he starts to literally see red. The Mark demands blood, and Dean will give it what it wants. If Sam is the only one around… it looks like today is not his lucky day.

 

\--- --- ---

 

The bunker is locked down, and Dean’s been after Sam for a little while. Hammer in hand, he calls his brother’s name, mockingly. If he finds him, Dean knows he won’t hesitate: he’ll take a hammer to Sam’s head and kill him once and for all, and with him will end his stupidity and exaggerated optimism. And the voice inside Dean, the one that tells him he’s weak and coward, will finally shut the fuck up.

 

Finally, finally, he has Sam right where he wants him: his back to Dean, unaware of his presence. There’s enough demon inside him to kill Sam without any remorse. He swings the hammer, but Sam ducks right on time and Ruby’s knife ends on Dean’s neck. One small move and Sam can kill him.

 

“Do it,” Dean challenges, but he already knows that Sam won’t have the guts to kill him. And he’s right. Sam sighs and lowers the blade. Smiling, Dean’s eyes turn black and he takes a step in Sam’s direction, ready to –

 

He feels Castiel’s arms around him, trapping him. He tries to get free, but Cas is stronger. “It’s over,” Cas says, and his raspy, guttural voice feels like daggers inside Dean. His arms feel like fire around him. Dean screams and roars, trying to use as much strength as he can, trying to take everything the Mark of Cain can give him, so he can knock Cas down on his butt, but Cas doesn’t let go. “Dean, it’s over,” he repeats.

 

Sam is making that face Dean hates, like he’s feeling sorry. Dean hates that people feel sorry for him. He doesn’t need anyone’s pity. He’s awesome. He’s strong. Only, not right now, that there’s a frigging angel with his arms around him.

 

\--- --- ---

 

Dean’s lost track of time. He’s been tied to the chair again, inside the Devil’s trap. The Mark of Cain has stopped throbbing and, up until two injections of purified blood ago, he could feel the demon inside him screaming to be left alone. So Dean screamed and thrashed and begged Sam and Cas to let him go. But they didn’t.

 

Now, his eyes are closed and his head is pending to one side, as he hears Sam and Cas whispering. By his counts, there’s only one or two shots left, and he’ll be human again. Or as much human he can be with the Mark of Cain still in is arm.

 

“What the hell are we doing to him, Cas?” he hears Sam saying. “After I gave him all that blood he still said he didn’t wanna be cured.”

 

“I see his point,” Cas answers. “Only humans can feel real joy, but also such profound pain. This is easier.”

 

Dean wants to yell at Cas, he hates that the angel is able to read him like that. Cas doesn’t understand, _no one_ understands what it’s like to be Dean Winchester. Dean doesn’t want to be human, because it hurts. Now that he doesn’t have demon juice enough to buffer his feelings, he’s starting to feel guilt. He’d rather die than feel like this. He thought he was finally free of the self-loathing, but it looks like it’s coming back, and with a vengeance.

 

He stays where he is, too weak and too tired to move. He doesn’t want to look at Cas anyway, because like Sam’s eyes, Cas’ will be full of pity, and Dean doesn’t want to see that.

 

“Just one more, then…” Sam says, uncertain. “Do you think it will work?”

 

“I don’t know,” Cas answers. “But we have to try, if we want him back.”

 

“But… what about what he wants?” Sam asks.

 

“The Dean Winchester we both know would rather die than be consumed by the evil inside him. He gave his life more than one – as you did, Sam – to save the world. I do not believe being a demon is what he really wants.”

 

“And if it doesn’t work?”

 

Castiel takes some time to answer. ”Then I don’t know. I wish it would be easy to kill him, because I believe that’s what he, what the real Dean would want. But I find myself unable to do it. I really don’t want to have to kill him, should it come to that.”

 

“It’s a pity,” Dean says, finally finding the strength to talk. “You should kill me while you have the chance. Because if I ever get out of this alive, I’ll rip you to shreds.”

 

“This is not you talking.” Castiel looks at Dean sternly, and Dean smiles cynically at him. “We’re friends,” the stupid angel goes on.

 

Dean can see that Castiel is hurt. Good. Like Sam, he’s an easy target. And, if Dean can’t kill them both right now, he still can talk. “Oh, it is me. You can bet on that. I’m tired of you pathetic face, of your sorry excuses for all the fucked up things you did. But, in the end, I think I have to thank you, because all this is your fault. If you hadn’t followed Metatron around, like a puppy, doing his every whim, none of this would’ve happened. The angels wouldn’t have fallen, I wouldn’t have the Mark of Cain, Metatron wouldn’t have killed Dean Ass-chester and I wouldn’t be– “

 

“Shut up!” Castiel shouts.

 

Dean’s smile widens. “Yeah, thank you, Cas. I’m a demon because of you. I’m glorious and perfect because of you.”

 

“Cas, don’t pay attention to what he’s saying,” Sam puts his hand on Cas’ shoulder.

 

Oh, Sam and Cas, so cute, their friendship. So sweet and annoying, and Dean wants to get the First Blade and stab them both as many times as he can.

 

“Tsk tsk…” Dean says. “Poor Sammy and Cas, still thinking I can be fixed. Listen to me: there’s nothing here to fix. I’m good. Hell, I’m great. If not for you two assholes, I’d be even better. So leave. Me. The fuck. Alone!”

 

Everything is quiet for a while, and Dean welcomes the silence, because his head is pounding again, and the pain is back. Uh. Maybe he shouldn’t have yelled so much.

 

Sam sighs. “I guess we’ll know what happens to him only if we try, right?” He steps closer to Dean, and this time, Dean doesn’t even bothers raising his head. He’s done with these two. They’re both too dumb to see the truth. “Here goes nothing,” Sam says.

 

Dean feels the prickle of the needle puncturing the back of his neck. The waves of pain come stronger and stronger, until he’s screaming, even though he wishes he wouldn’t, because it only makes the pain worse. He’s dizzy now, and his stomach is in knots. He raises his head, looking at Sam and Cas, and he can feel his eyes turning black for the last time, before they finally clear for good. Suddenly, the pain stops. Dean takes a deep breath, because now he actually needs to breathe again. Because his lungs need oxygen, and his heart is beating once more.

 

Dean doesn’t need to try to walk over a Devil’s trap to know he’s not a demon anymore. He can feel he’s completely human now. “You look worried, fellas,” he says, looking at Sam and Cas, and when Sam splashes holy water on him and nothing happens, he knows he’s cured. For whatever it’s worth.

 

“Welcome back, Dean,” Sam says, smiling. Cas is smiling too, and in that moment, Dean feels that it’s not so bad to be human, after all. This will be all right in the end. Whatever he is – with the Mark of Cain still in his arm – at least he isn’t a demon anymore, he isn’t the very thing he always fought against.

 

Cas is suddenly there, so close that Dean can feel see his eyelashes. His eyes don’t have that otherworldly-angel blue anymore; they’re normal now. He smiles softly at Dean, kneeling close to untie his legs. Dean looks down, unable to handle his stare, because he remembers he just said he’d kill him if he could, and he feels ashamed.

 

Sam gets closer too, pats his back. It’s strange that he doesn’t try to hug Dean, but well, Dean was about to hurt him when Cas arrived, so it’s a wonder Sam is here at all. “I’m really glad it worked,” he says, and his eyes are moist again. He looks like he’s already forgiven Dean and, wow, Sam’s heart is really big and soft, because he probably has. Crap. Dean’s little brother is a giant girl.

 

He gets up, looking expectantly at the two people who never gave up on him. Sam looks genuinely happy to have him back. Cas looks… he looks great. His smile is soft and sincere, non-judgmental. Dean can’t help but smile back, although it feels strained. These two are his family, and even though Dean thinks he’s not worth the trouble, he’s glad they rescued him from demon-mode.

 

“You have something to eat? I’m starving,” he tries to joke.

 

Sam chuckles. “Oh, there you are. _Now_ I know you’re really back.”

 

They walk together towards the door. Dean can’t wait to take a long, hot shower with the bunker’s wonderful water pressure, and have the greasiest cheeseburger he can find. Everything will be just -

 

White-hot, blinding pain explodes inside him. Dean screams, falls on the ground, and his body starts aching, with spasms he can’t control. Sam screams in the background, but Dean knows his brother can’t help him. He has no idea what’s happening. Everything is agony, everything is pain and he wants it to end now, because it’s too much, he’s being split open, he’s being torn to shreds from the inside and he can’t take it anymore. His blood is boiling, ice-cold and burning at the same time, and he’ll explode in a million pieces if this doesn’t end soon.

 

Cas’ hand on his forehead feels like a benediction, especially when the light that comes from it puts him to sleep and everything goes dark.

 

\--- --- ---

 

 

Now that Castiel has Adina’s Grace inside him, he feels normal again. Or, as normal as an angel can be with another’s Grace inside him. It feels strange; it’s something he can’t quite describe. But it’s not something bad. In fact, Castiel is glad. Not because of his sister’s death, or because now he’s in debt with Crowley. But because without her Grace, he wouldn’t be able to help Dean.

 

And Castiel will do anything to help Dean. Whatever it takes.

 

It was a shock, finding him inside the bunker, about to smash Sam’s head with a hammer. When he grabbed Dean and immobilized him, he could feel the demon inside him screaming to be set free. The angel in Castiel felt revulsion for the twisted thing in his arms, but Cas, Dean’s friend, ached for the completely changed man. So, he didn’t let go. “It’s over, Dean,” he said.

 

And, after Sam splashed Dean with holy water, it looked like it was really over. But it wasn’t.

 

Dean fell on the ground convulsing, and the agony radiating from him made something inside Castiel ache too. He didn’t even stop to analyze what he was doing when he put his hand on Dean’s forehead and made him unconscious.

 

Now Sam is looking at him, alarmed. They both stand on Dean’s bedside – Castiel carried him to his bedroom – while Hannah, with her hands cradling Dean’s head, analyzes him.

 

“I don’t know what happened to him,” she says, looking at Castiel apologetically. “But you’re not mistaken, Castiel. It is as you said: it feels like his life is slowly slipping away.”

 

At first, Hannah had asked to wait in the car. Castiel suspects she doesn’t like the Winchesters too much. But, when Dean didn’t wake up after one entire hour, Castiel probed his mind – even though Dean wouldn’t like it one bit, if he ever found out – and what he felt made his insides turn cold. So, he had begged Hannah to come inside the bunker and take a look at his friend. He had hoped he was mistaken, because of course his powers are diminished, since the Grace inside him is not his own.

 

But Hannah says Castiel is right: Dean is dying.

 

“I don’t know what we can do for him,” Hannah whispers, releasing Dean’s head and stepping back, uncertain and awkward. “I’m sorry.”

 

“What’s going on? Tell me, Cas!” Sam demands.

 

Castiel takes a deep breath – one he doesn’t need, but at least it gives him some time to choose his words. And, to assimilate what’s happening. “I’m not sure why, but Dean’s life is… leaving his body. Very slowly, but it is.”

 

“What?” Sam‘s eyes widen in terror. “You’re kidding, right? How the hell is this happening?”

 

“I told you, Sam… I don’t know. But– “

 

“Well, do something!” Sam says, and he grabs a chair and pulls it to Dean’s bedside, sitting on it and looking at Castiel like he’s waiting for a miracle. “There’s gotta be something you can do to save him!”

 

“I’m trying to think of something, Sam,” he says. “I didn’t lose my hope yet.”

 

“But Castiel…”Hannah starts, but Castiel looks at her sharply and she closes her mouth, looking at him worriedly.

 

“I don’t understand…” Sam says, almost to himself. “Dean was cured, right? I just threw holy water at him and nothing happened! His eyes were normal, you saw it, Cas!”

 

“Yes,” Castiel nods absently, suddenly remembering something very important. “But Sam, Dean's cure process was different...there was no bright light when Dean was finally cured, and you didn’t have to recite the incantation. It’s possible that– “

 

“Because the blood isn’t mine, I told you, Cas!” Sam retorts, impatient. “A priest blessed it.”

 

“You didn’t let me finish.” Castiel is trying not to panic, because the conclusion to which he’s coming isn’t good. But snapping at Sam won’t fix anything, so he keeps his voice calm. “Dean’s cure didn’t need that last part. He wasn’t possessed; therefore, an exorcism wasn’t necessary. But… before he turned into a demon, he was… um… he was dead.”

 

Sam’s eyes widen, as if he’s getting to the same conclusion. “He was dead,” he breathes, horrified, “but he didn’t stay dead because the Mark of Cain brought him back.”

 

“Exactly. But now, without the demon part of him – given by the mark – there’s only Dean, and Dean was dead. So I think that… it’s possible that he’s dying again, this time slowly, for there is no wound to cause him immediate death, but… there’s nothing to anchor his soul here. He will die and…” Castiel stops talking, because what he’s thinking now is too horrible for him to put into words.

 

But Sam is right there with him. “And if Dean dies again, the Mark of Cain will kick back and turn him into a demon once more.”

 

Castiel can only nod in response.

 

“Oh my God, this is our fault,” Sam whispers, looking at Dean with so much sorrow that Castiel feels another pang inside his chest. “We gave him hope that he would be cured, just so he can die and turn into a demon again. We did this, Cas.”

 

“We were trying to help him. You know him, and so do I. Dean will never want to be a demon again. Whatever he said or did, that wasn’t Dean talking, it was the Mark of Cain. We were trying to bring him back, Sam… we were trying to help.”

 

Sam snorts, self-deprecatingly. “Sure. But the way to hell is paved with good intentions, Cas.” He shakes his head. “This is on me. On us. We didn't think about what would happen.”

 

Castiel feels all the weight of the world on his shoulders. He should have analyzed all the possible outcomes before they finished the cure process. He should have. Castiel should have stopped Sam. He’s an angel. He should have known better. Another bad decision, another thing he did without thinking about the consequences, and now the person he cares about the most will suffer. He has already given up trying to understand what he feels for Dean, because it’s so deep inside his heart that it makes him hard to analyze it properly. And now Dean is in danger, again. Because of him.

 

“What will we do now?” Sam looks at him, and Castiel sees despair in his eyes. The same despair he’s starting to feel.

 

He looks at Dean. The hunter looks like he’s already dead, or at least close to dying. He’s pale, his skin is cold and clammy, and the areas around his eyes are darkened. His breathing is shallow and irregular. Castiel doesn’t think Dean will hold on for much longer. Not if he stays like this.

 

He feels the cold grip of dread inside him, something he rarely ever felt in his very long life. There’s got to be something he can do. _Anything_.

 

On an impulse, he grabs his blade and makes a shallow cut in the palm of his own hand. Pale, faint light radiates from it, instead of blood, and Castiel puts his hand on Dean’s mouth. Immediately, Dean opens his eyes and gasps, and a bit of Grace flows from Castiel’s hand into Dean’s mouth. It lasts less than a second. But it’s enough.

 

The next thing Castiel knows, he is lying on the floor, his ears are ringing, his head feels funny. Hannah’s worried face is hovering over him.

 

“Castiel?” she says, and he can tell she’s angry. “Are you all right?”

 

“Yes,” he rasps. “I’m fine.” He grabs the hand she’s offering him and gets up.

 

“What did you do, Castiel? Are you insane? Are you trying to kill yourself? You know this Grace is already ebbing away from you, and you give it away like that?” Hannah says.

 

But Castiel isn’t paying attention to her. Because he’s looking at a pair of very green eyes, that are open and looking at him curiously.

 

“Heya, Cas,” Dean says.

 

\--- --- ---

 

 

Hesitantly, Castiel sits on the chair close to Dean’s bed. Sam was here minutes ago, but he left to buy Dean a cheeseburger and asked Castiel to watch over Dean. He’s glad to be of help, he’ll do anything he can to be useful.

 

He’d left Sam and Dean alone for a while, because the brothers needed to talk. Knowing Dean, he was probably feeling very guilty about all the things he’d said and done to Sam. Besides, Castiel needed time to recover. After he used his Grace curing Dean, he felt weak and tired. The cut in his hand wasn’t healing as it should, so Hannah took him to the library, where he lay on one of the couches there, until Sam left Dean’s room.

 

Now, he sits in silence by Dean’s side. Dean has his eyes closed, and his breathing is even. Castiel looks at him and, despite the ominous future that awaits him, he looks at peace. The angel starts thinking at everything that happened since he rescued Sam from his demon brother and his heart clenches inside his chest at the things Dean said to him.

 

Castiel knows Dean didn’t mean it. He knows. He holds no resentment against his friend. But still, it hurt to hear Dean saying those things. Because Dean had already hurt Castiel – with words and actions – several times, the angel keeps asking himself when will be the final time, when will Dean finally put an end to their friendship. He knows he’s not important to Dean, he’s merely a tool, and lately he hasn’t been good for much. But now is not the time to feel sorry for himself. Dean needs him, and he’s here for his friend.

 

The problem is that, when Castiel was human – and he shakes his head, as if to get rid of the memories of Dean telling him to leave the bunker, even though he knew that Castiel would be vulnerable, weak and completely alone – he realized his true feelings for Dean. He was finally able to understand something that had been happening to him through all these years since he pulled Dean from Hell.

 

Hester was right. When Castiel first laid a hand on Dean in Hell, he was lost.

 

Of course, Castiel loves Sam as well. The Winchesters are his friends, his only friends in the whole universe, and he would die for any of them. But his feelings for Dean are different, and he’d always known it, he just had never acknowledged the fact until he was forced to deal with human feelings.

 

He keeps thinking what he can do, how he can help with Dean's predicament. Dean can’t die, or he’ll be a demon again. Castiel is an angel – a defective one, but an angel nonetheless. There’s got to be something he can do. If Dean’s life keeps being drained away from him, Castiel is willing to give as much Grace as Dean needs to stay alive. But this Grace won’t last forever, so he needs to find a definitive solution, and soon. And… if he gives Dean all the Grace inside him, he’ll die.

 

He remembers Hannah’s words: “Are you insane?” And yes, maybe he is. He already knows he will do anything for Dean. He doesn’t mind dying, exactly. Maybe it would be a good thing, to free the world of someone whose mistakes cost so much to everyone.

 

But first, he needs to be sure that Dean will be all right. He can’t stand seeing Dean hurt, or dead; even less turned into something evil. So, a cure must be found for the person Castiel loves, before he surrenders to his fate.

 

“Cas?” he hears, and he didn’t even realized he had is eyes closed. He opens them, and Dean is awake, looking at him, a worried expression on his face.

 

Dean has just woken up, and he already looks tired. Castiel forces a smile.

 

"Hey," Dean says softly.

 

"Hello, Dean. How do you feel?"

 

Dean grimaces. “Like crap. Everything hurts. And I’m starving.”

 

“Sam went to buy you something to eat.”

 

“I know. He said you’d come, but I slept. You been here for long?”

 

“No.”

 

"I was wondering where you had run to. I didn't think you'd want to talk to me anytime soon."

 

Castiel frowns. "Why?" He asks, because he can't think of any reason why he wouldn't want to see Dean. He always wants to see him, talk to him, be close to him. It's embarrassing, even.

 

"Cas, come on, man... Really?" Dean looks annoyed at Castiel’s question. "After all the things I said in the basement? About what I’d do? When I said everything was your fault, does it ring any bells?"

 

Castiel sighs. "Dean," he starts.

 

"No, drop it, I know what you're gonna say: that it wasn't really me talking, that I didn't mean any of it, yadda yadda yadda. You and Sam must've rehearsed this speech together, huh?"

 

"I wasn't going to say that," Castiel half smiles. "But what you said is true, I know you didn't mean that."

 

Dean huffs a self-deprecating laugh. "But I still said them, Cas, whether I meant them or not. And I didn't, I swear. But I did say them. And I want- no, scratch that, I _need_ you to know that I would never hurt- "

 

"Dean, I know," Castiel hurries to say, because even though it's not entirely true - wasn't he just wondering if Dean considered him a true friend? – Dean's expression is pleading for him to understand, and Castiel is going to say anything at this point, so he won't cause Dean more suffering. “You don’t have to worry about it.”

 

“You know I’d never- I’d never hurt you, Cas, I swear.”

 

“It’s okay.”

 

“No, it’s not!” Dean says with vehemence, and starts to cough, and it takes him a while to stop.

 

Castiel gets up and fills a glass with water, giving it to his friend. As Dean holds the glass, their fingers touch and, this may be the cliché to represent all the clichés in the whole world, but Castiel’s heart starts to beat faster. Great. This is not good, not good at all, because the last thing he needs is to make Dean feel awkward around him. That is one of the reasons he’s been trying to keep his distance from the hunter, so he doesn’t make him uncomfortable with his – evidently unrequited – feelings for him.

 

“Um, thanks, Cas.” Dean’s cheeks are a little bit red.

 

For a few moments, they don’t say anything. Dean drinks his water slowly and Castiel tries not to look at him. It would be extremely embarrassing if he made things between them even more awkward.

 

“Uh… so, Sam told me what’s happening to me.”

 

“I want you to know that I’ll do my best to-“

 

“No, Cas. You’re not doing anything.”

 

Castiel stops. “What?”

 

“I don’t want you to heal me again, you hear me? I can already feel the pain coming back, and soon you’ll have to use your mojo again. I don’t want you doing this; your batteries are already lower than they should. You’ll burn out and die if you use all your Grace.”

 

Castiel’s jaw tightens. “You can’t tell me what to do with my Grace, Dean. As you said, it’s mine.”

 

“Shit, you’re really stubborn, aren’t you?”

 

“I learned from the best.”

 

“I don’t want you to sacrifice yourself for me!” Dean says angrily, and starts to cough again. Castiel waits for it to pass holding his breath. “I’m not worth it, Cas.”

  
Dean is definitely paler, but Castiel decides not to say anything for now. If he says Dean shouldn’t talk too much, Dean will do exactly the opposite, as always. "I admit that if I could go back in time, I would have done some things differently. Since we've known each other, I... I admit I have done a few mistakes."

 

"That's an understatement, right? But I made a lot of mistakes too, so..." Dean says, but his tone is softer this time. "But that's totally not the point, Cas. The point is- "

 

"The point is that I'm older than you by millennia and, although age isn't a synonym for wisdom... I know what I'm doing. I didn't act on an impulse, not really. I would do it again. I _will_ do it again, until we find a way to rid you of this mark in your arm."

 

"I don't think there's anything we can do about it. You talk about bad decisions like you're the only one who makes them... Well, look at this shit." Dean raises his arm, showing the Mark of Cain, red, angry, reminding them that it's draining everything Dean is. "When I took the Mark," Dean goes on, "it seemed like a good idea. But... to kill Abbadon, I did this to myself and I can't undo it. Well, kudos for me, I killed the fucker, but at what cost? Since then, the Mark demands that I kill, and if I don't, it will kill me. Again. And, if it kills me, it brings me back as a Knight of Hell. This fucking shit in my arm controls my life now, whether I like it or not. This is so fucked up that I-"

 

Dean starts to cough again, but it turns into a gasp of pain.

 

"Dean?" Castiel kneels by his side, worried. "Don't talk too much, please. Save your strength."

 

"Fuck, it hurts," Dean moans, clutching at his head with one hand and his chest with the other. He's getting paler by the minute, breathing fast, and it looks like it hurts to even stay awake.

 

When the convulsions start, Castiel doesn't even think twice. He touches Dean's forehead with his hand and demands the Grace inside him to cure Dean, this time bracing himself for the wave of dizziness he knows will come.

 

And it comes, indeed. He feels like he’s been drained, and his vision turns black for a moment. He hears Dean’s worried “Cas, you idiot,” but he can’t answer him right now.

 

Castiel has no idea how much time passes. He opens his eyes and realizes he's still kneeling on the floor, but now his head is resting on Dean's bed. Dean is quiet, looking at him with worry in his eyes, one hand resting on Castiel's shoulder, as if he's about to shake him, only he doesn't; he leaves his hand there, and for a few seconds they look at each other in silence.

 

"You're stupid, you know that?" Dean finally says, softly. "Wasting away your Grace like this."

 

"I'm not wasting anything," Castiel answers. He's still dizzy and a little bit confuse. That might be the only explanation to what he says next: "This Grace is mine and I can give it to whomever I want. And I choose to give it to you. Everything I have, everything I am, it's all yours, Dean. So don't question my decision."

 

Dean widens his eyes, and the look on his face makes Castiel realize what he just said. He opens his mouth to try to take his words back, but he knows that Dean heard them loud and clear. He gets up as fast as he can, looks at the floor and whispers, "I'm sorry. I... I'm going to call Sam, see if he's already coming back. You must be hungry." And he leaves Dean's bedroom trying hard not to show his utter mortification.

 

Dean doesn't say anything. He nods in silence, eyes still wide, as if in shock. Castiel only hopes he doesn't lose Dean's friendship forever this time.

 

\--- --- ---

 

“Cas!” Sam comes running a few hours later, and Castiel doesn’t even have to think what’s happening. He follows Sam and they find Dean unconscious on the floor, his face on the dirty rug. "He got up and fell," Sam says.

 

“Help me turn him,” he tells Sam, while he cups Dean's face with one hand, willing his Grace to cooperate and sending it Dean's way. He says a few words in Enochain, a prayer, for good measure.

 

His vision turns dark for a few minutes, but not before he sees Dean opening his eyes. It’s with relief that he closes his own eyes and rests.

 

When he wakes up, the first thing he sees is Dean. The man is looking at him, his expression serious. “You asshole,” he says, but his tone isn’t harsh. “You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

 

“I’m fine,” Castiel says, blinking, and only then he realizes where he is: lying on Dean’s bed _with Dean_. They’re facing each other, and the intimacy of the position puts butterflies in Castiel’s stomach. “I’m sorry,” he says, even though he has no idea why, and starts to sit up.

 

Dean’s hand on his arm makes him stop. “Stay a bit?” Dean asks, and maybe because of Castiel’s obvious astonishment, he adds “Please. You need to rest.”

 

“All right,” Castiel says.

 

“You feeling better?” Dean asks.

 

“Yes, thank you. How about you?”

 

“I’m good.” A grimace. “I’m useless, and it pisses me off. But right now, I’m okay. Thanks to you.”

 

They stay in silence for a little while, and Castiel does his best to not look at Dean. It’s not easy, because the way they are on the bed, facing each other, limits Castiel’s field of vision a lot. He looks at the ceiling and follows the small cracks in it. He turns his head to one side and tries to guess where the tiny ant going up the wall is headed. Anything, so he can escape the embarrassment of looking at Dean, after having said things like ‘all I have, all I am, is yours.’ Dear Father in Heaven, he is pathetic.

 

Dean, on his part, is quiet too, but Castiel can feel the man’s eyes on him. Studying him, maybe. He doesn’t return the look. He’s afraid of what he’ll see. He starts to imagine what Dean might be thinking, after Castiel’s admission – a confession, really – and he wonders if Dean is disgusted or embarrassed, or if the hunter will simply ignore what Castiel said. He grimaces, remembering the words he said, and his heart starts beating fast again.

 

“What is it?” Dean asks.

 

Castiel looks at him, uncertain. “It’s nothing. My… my heart is beating faster then usual.”

 

Dean frowns. “You have a heartbeat? But… you’re all mojoed up again, aren’t you?”

 

Castiel shrugs. “I don’t know why. Maybe I’m not fully an angel. I certainly don’t feel like one.”

 

Dean moves his hand, hesitantly, and puts it over Castiel’s heart. It’s a good feeling, the weight and the heat from Dean’s hand, on his chest. Of course he doesn’t say a single word about it.

 

“When you sent all those souls back to Purgatory, and you fell on the ground, all bloodied,” Dean says, and he’s looking at his own hand on Castiel’s chest, “I kneeled beside you and there was no heartbeat, no pulse. Nada. I didn’t know if angels were supposed to have a pulse. I realized that… that I _couldn’t_ know, because I had rarely touched you, and… friends are supposed to know these kinds of things about each other and I… I had no clue, I didn’t know much about you.”

 

“I didn’t have a heartbeat then,” Castiel explains. “It happened when I turned human and it just didn’t go away.”

 

When Metatron made him human, it was the first time Castiel had a heartbeat – not Jimmy’s heartbeat, no, since Jimmy had been gone since Castiel’s first explosion by Raphael’s hands; but _his_ heartbeat. Castiel’s. And he liked it, this reminder of his humanity, this… way to feel connected to the people he had tried so much to protect.

 

But then, he got another angel’s Grace inside him and he turned into something not even he could define. He had Grace, but the heartbeat didn’t go away, nor the hunger or the need to sleep. It was strange, like he was stuck between two worlds, not a human and not an angel.

 

Dean looks at Castiel and smiles softly. “I’m glad you have a heart, Cas. It makes you more like us.”

 

“Guys?” Sam’s voice comes from the door, and Dean takes his hand away hurriedly, his face red as a tomato.

 

“I, um… I was feeling Cas’ heartbeat,” Dean says dumbly, as if this explains anything.

 

Castiel almost smiles, because he can feel Sam’s confusion and embarrassment. He opts for staying quiet, and he looks at Sam with the more neutral expression he can. Sam, on the other hand, has his eyebrows arched and his eyes are huge, a puzzled expression on his face. “Oh, erhm… good. Good.” Sam replies, and flees the room after giving them chamomile tea. Which is very good, by the way.

 

But the moment, whatever it was, is broken. Dean is sitting up to drink his tea and Castiel already feels the absence of his hand.

 

\--- --- ---

 

The following days pass in the same pattern. The only difference is that now, every time Castiel feels weak, after curing Dean momentarily, the hunter insists that Castiel stays with him for a little while.

 

And they talk. Like they never did before.

 

Not about what Castiel said. Of course not. This is Dean Winchester, the king of ‘no chick-flick moments’, the man who dies for his friends and family, but never talks to them about his feelings.

 

Castiel doesn’t care. He’ll take anything Dean is willing to give him. This is enough. This is more than he thought he would get, after what he said the other day. At least Dean is not running for the hills.

 

Dean talks about his mother. About how wonderful she was and how much he misses her, and how he’s always afraid he will forget her face eventually. He talks about his father too, about how John changed when Mary died, about the difficult times he and Sam went through being raised by someone like John, whom Dean loved wholeheartedly, even so.

 

He tells Castiel how much he misses Bobby. How guilty he feels sometimes, because he mourned Bobby’s death more than John’s. But it’s not that he loves John any less, it’s because Bobby Singer had been more present in his life, he’d always been there, all Dean needed to do was call or show up at his doorstep. John used to disappear for days, weeks even. Bobby was more Sam and Dean’s father than John, sometimes, and he saved them from dying of starvation more than once.

 

Dean talks about Sam. Especially about how much he regrets changing his brother’s life forever. Dean doesn’t regret going to Hell to save Sam, he doesn’t even regret allowing Gadreel access to his brother’s head, even though it resulted in Kevin’s death – which Dean thinks it was his fault, a hundred percent. But he says he would do it all over again, if he had to, because he hadn’t seen any other way to do it differently, at the time.

 

But what Dean regrets the most is that first time, that first night he went to ask for Sam’s help to find John. Because Sam was happy, he had his scholarship, he had Jessica… and Dean changed everything when he showed up. Who knows, maybe Sam would have been able to escape Azazel, maybe not… but Dean considers his fault the fact that Jessica died and that Sam was thrown again in a life he had fought so hard to escape.

 

Castiel listens to everything in silence, offering a small comment here and there, humbled and grateful for the opportunity to learn so much about his friend.

 

In return, it looks like Dean is determined to know about him too. So Castiel tells him how many vessels he’d had – and Dean is horrified to know some were women and children – and why he had to take them. He tells Dean what he remembers of his brothers and sisters, even if he’s not sure the memories are the real ones, after what Naomi did with his head. He tells everything about Naomi and Metatron, what they did to him.

 

Castiel tells him, for the first time, without any interruptions, why he had decided to free the souls from Purgatory, why he had ‘betrayed’ Dean’s trust. He feels he has to tell his story, now that a long time has passed and Dean is inclined to listen, because that was how the distrust between them had started.

 

“Raphael almost killed me, that first day. He wanted the Apocalypse back; he wanted Paradise on Earth with the human race completely eliminated. I couldn’t let that happen.”

 

“You know you could have come to me, Cas.” Dean says, this time without any trace of anger. Too much time has passed indeed, there’s no use in fighting again and reopening old wounds.

 

“I went to you. I… I saw you collecting autumn leaves that had fallen from your backyard trees. You looked at peace. Happy, even. I… I couldn’t take that peace away from you, throw you again in that war, a battle I had no hope to win.”

 

“You disappeared for a whole year. You never told me you rescued Sam from Hell.”

 

“I assumed he would go to you. I just… didn’t want to burden you with my problems.”

 

“You mean _our_ problems, right? Because if your asshole of a brother wanted the Apocalypse again, it was my problem too.”

 

“You were happy. I didn’t want to- “

 

“I _pretended_ I was, dammit! I swear, Cas, as much as I loved Lisa and Ben… I was a mess. Without Sam, even though the world was safe – or so I thought – I felt like a failure.”

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t bring his soul when I rescued him. It didn’t even occur to me to see if the soul was there. It would have spared you two a lot of grief if I had just been more careful.”

 

“Water under the bridge, Cas. I know it wasn’t on purpose. I just said that because I was mad.”

 

“I… watched you from afar sometimes,” Castiel admits. “To see if you were all right. You seemed… well adjusted with your domestic life.”

 

Dean snorts lightly. “Yeah, the apple pie life. A white picket fence, a wife, a kid… I had all that. And it was good, don’t get me wrong, it was good. Lisa and Ben… they were too good to me. A family. It’s what I said I wanted, right? Sam made me promise I would go to them. So I did. But it felt… lonely. I missed Sam. And I missed you too. Anyway, that life, it wasn’t for me. It was good while it lasted, but… it wasn’t for me. It made me feel empty, and an ungrateful son-of-a-bitch, because any other guy would feel great for having them. And I… I felt like I was borrowing someone else’s life, that that life wasn’t mine. You get it?”

 

“You were raised in a hunter’s life. I understand.”

 

It’s been a week and they still haven’t found a cure for Dean. All Castiel has is this Grace that’s not even his and, even if he doesn’t give any of it to keep Dean alive, is still oozing from him, burning him from the inside. Soon he won’t be able to help Dean anymore.

 

\--- --- ---

 

The idea comes to him when he’s watching Dean sleep.

 

Today has been a hard day. In the morning a low fever starts, and Sam gives Dean something called acetaminophen. It doesn’t work, and as the fever gets higher, the chills start. Castiel and Sam cover Dean with all the blankets they can find in the Men of Letters bunker, but his teeth start chattering and his lips are turning blue.

 

The delirium starts soon after.

 

“Sammy,” Dean says, half sobbing, his forehead covered in sweat, while his eyes are red and puffy. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said. Please, don’t die, I didn’t want to hurt you.”

 

“I’m alive, Dean, I’m here, I’m alive,” Sam says, and Castiel can see that he’s about to cry too.

 

He comes closer, puts a hand on Dean’s face, and it’s burning. Dean turns his head to him, but Castiel doesn’t know if he’s really seeing him or it’s just another hallucination.

 

“Cas, Cas, I didn’t mean to kill you, it was the demon, I didn’t want to do any of this. Blood, so much blood, I didn’t know angels bled so much.”

 

“Cas, please!” Sam says, tired from trying to hold Dean still. “We’re gonna lose him!” ~~~~

Castiel has already intervened twice. It would be so much easier if he had his own Grace, because it would just replenish itself soon after been spent, and he wouldn’t feel so useless. He knows they can’t go on like this forever, Dean’s body can’t take it much longer and frankly, neither can Castiel.

 

He holds Dean’s face with both hands and heals him. He sits heavily on the bed, tired. Dean sighs and closes his eyes. “Thirsty,” he mumbles.

 

Sam runs to get a glass of water and Castiel adjusts Dean’s covers and the pillows. Everything is drenched in sweat, so Castiel touches it again and the blankets are clean and dry. He doesn’t mind using Grace for this. This is easy. At least he feels he‘s helping, even though he knows it’s just an illusion.

 

They are no closer to find a cure for Dean than they were a week ago, when Dean turned human again. But Dean is getting worse, and Castiel feels the little Grace he still has, getting even fainter.

 

He doesn’t know what to do. Sam looks at him expectantly, as if hoping for a miracle. But Castiel knows there won’t be any miracles, and if he tries to pray for help it will only bring a bunch of angry angels to the bunker’s door.

 

The time is running out. Dean’s bright soul will be demonic again if Castiel doesn’t find a solution soon. A soul Castiel held in his own hands, a beautiful soul, the Righteous Man, can’t be tarnished with the blackness of Hell forever. Whatever hold the Mark of Cain has on Dean, will allow it to control his soul again. A soul that was brighter then anything Castiel had ever seen, when he rescued it. A tattered soul, whose gaps Castiel filled with his own Grace.

 

Oh.

 

Castiel looks at Dean and sees that his friend is sleeping. Good. He needs to talk to Hannah now. He has found a way of curing Dean forever.

 

\--- --- ---

 

 

 

 

Sam is yelling at Dean again. But it's Dean's fault, because Sam's brother is stubborn and infuriating and... he drives Sam crazy.

 

"Why can't you accept people's help?” Sam wants to give up and maybe slap some sense into his brother, but of course he can’t do this.

 

“Not at the cost of Cas’ life, no,” Dean answers with conviction. He just finished eating a bacon cheeseburger, but he already looks tired.

 

“Than let Hannah help,” Sam pleads, although he’s not sure she’d want to. He doesn’t even know why she’s still here. Maybe because she likes Cas. “Maybe if Cas asks her-“

 

“No way. She’s not my number one fan, Sammy.”

 

Sam huffs an incredulous laugh. “Come on, Dean! You’re just gonna give up like that?”

 

Dean sighs and rolls his eyes, annoyed. But when Sam just shakes his head sadly and doesn’t say anything, he closes his eyes in defeat. He hasn’t gotten up since Cas carried him here, except for going to the bathroom and taking a shower, while Cas or Sam waits patiently behind the closed door, in case anything happens.

 

“Maybe it’s better if we just give up, you know?” Dean says in a small voice, so unlike him that Sam barely hears it. “Maybe it’s time to… to let me go. If I’m doomed to be a demon, then maybe it’s better that we just stop trying. I… I promise that I’ll leave you guys alone. Hell, I was going to leave you alone, you’re the one who came after me.”

 

“Shit, Dean. Stop this, okay? I’m not giving up on you. Cas is not giving up on you!”

 

“Maybe you should,” Dean retorts, stubbornly.

 

“Well, we’re not, so stop saying you don’t deserve to be saved, like it’s your destiny or some shit like that.”

 

“Sammy…” Dean winces a little, as he sits up a bit more, and Sam makes an aborted movement to help him with the pillows, but Dean eyes him sternly and he stays where he is, leaning on the wall. “I… since I came back from Hell, you know that I didn’t come back normal. You know it. I was already fucked up, but… Since Hell, I… I’m broken, Sam, and I’ve tried to be the old Dean, I did. But it never worked.”

 

“This is bull shit, Dean, and you know it! I’ve been in Hell too, remember? Do you think I deserve to be a demon?”

 

“You only went to Hell because you sacrificed yourself to save the world! And you were never a demon.”

 

“And you went because you sacrificed yourself for me!”

 

And they start yelling at each other again. Sam wants to stop arguing all the time, but he can’t, he won’t let Dean give up.

 

It’s not a surprise when the convulsions start. Dean gets up and falls on the floor. It’s not even twelve hours since the last one, and here they come again. Dean moans in pain, his eyes pleading – for Sam to make the pain stop, or for him to not call Castiel, Sam is not sure. But when Dean loses consciousness Sam doesn’t even think twice.

 

“Cas!” he runs to the library, where Cas retreats to when he’s not watching over Dean. The angel is reading a book – researching, looking for a cure for Dean, he says – and he lets the book fall on the floor, not even paying attention to it and running after Sam to Dean’s room. His hand is already on Dean's face and he doesn’t waste any time. He kneels on the floor, leaning over Dean.

 

“Help me turn him, Sam,” Cas says.

 

As Cas' mojo works its magic in Dean's body, two things happen: Dean takes a deep breath and opens his eyes immediately, color instantly returning to his cheeks, and Cas sits heavily on the bed, his eyes close, and he tilts to the side dangerously, almost falling on top of Dean, if not for Sam’s help.

 

“Careful!” Dean says, and Sam is surprised by how strong his voice is. “Let him rest on the bed, Sammy. He needs a little time before he wakes up.”

 

Sam arranges Cas beside Dean, who hurries and puts one of his pillows under than angel’s head. “You sure?” he asks.

 

Dean nods absently, still looking at Cas. “Yep.”

 

“All right, then. I’ll just… um…” Sam walks to the door, because he’s sure Dean will bite his head off for calling Cas to help and 'waste' his mojo again. But Dean is looking at the angel, his eyes soft, almost tender, and _wow_ , Sam knows Dean likes Cas, the angel is probably his best friend, but this... this looks almost like something entirely different.

 

Dean is so absorbed looking at Cas that he doesn’t see that Sam is still there. “I guess I can’t stop you, can I?” he says softly. “You stupid angel. When you get an idea in your stubborn head… Just don’t die on me, all right?”

 

Sam blushes, feeling very much like an intruder. This is intimate, and he’s sure Dean will kill him if he ever realizes Sam’s seeing this. He leaves as silently as he can, closing the door quietly. He’ll make some tea for both of them and come back in a while, to see if they need anything.

 

More than twenty minutes later, steaming tea in hand, Sam knocks on Dean’s door. He can hear voices inside, talking quietly, and he knows Cas is awake. “Guys?”

 

When he opens the door cautiously, Cas is, indeed, awake. But he hasn’t moved, nor has Dean. They’re lying on the bed, facing each other. Cas has a soft smile and one of Dean’s hand is on his chest. When he sees Sam, Cas only nods, acknowledging his presence in silence, but Dean almost jumps and takes his hand back.

 

“I, um… I was feeling Cas’ heartbeat,” Dean tries to explain, and Sam desperately wishes he didn’t because, well, awkward. Really, Dean?

 

“Oh, erhm… good. Good.” Sam almost winces, because his answer is equally stupid.

 

“It’s something I have since I turned human. A heartbeat. I’m not sure why it’s still here since I acquired this Grace, but… “ Castiel trails off.

 

Sam looks at the floor. “Um… tea, anyone?”

 

“You should drink it, Dean,” Cas says, sitting up and accepting one mug from Sam. He waits patiently for Dean to sit up too, and he gives him the mug on his hand. “You can drink it, I already cooled it a bit for you.”

 

Dean blushes, and Sam needs to cough to try to cover a laugh that wants to escape. He gives the other mug to Cas and leaves fast, telling them to call if they need him.

 

\--- --- ---

 

Days pass, turning into a week, and nothing’s changed. Every waking hour, Sam is in the library trying to find a cure for Dean.

 

Dean sleeps a lot. And eats. And talks to Cas, and to Sam. Nothing else. Sam suspects it’s because he just doesn’t have the strength. Once a day, sometimes twice, he gets worse, and Cas is there, hand on Dean's forehead, curing him.

 

It’s a strange thing to see, this unspoken agreement between them. It’s almost like a dance. The pain comes, Dean turns pale and sick, Cas does his thing, Dean gets all right for a while, Cas gets weak for a while, Dean waits until Cas is okay, they talk a bit, Dean sleeps, Dean wakes up, Dean eats, he and Sam talk. Until next time Dean’s pain comes and they do it all over again.

 

Sam doesn’t say anything. But he sees in their eyes the same despair he feels. His hope is starting to fade. The time between Dean’s ‘episodes’ is getting shorter. As is getting weaker.

 

Sam barely leaves the library, unless it’s to be with Dean, but he’s already looked in all the books he found about demons and he didn’t find anything. He feels tired. He can’ barely eat, so worried he is. He’s afraid of sleeping and waking up with a dead brother. He’s contemplated calling Crowley, to see if he has an idea, _any_ idea, but he knows Dean doesn’t want to see the King of Hell anytime soon, if ever.

 

All he can do is research, then. But they’re running out of time, and soon there will be nothing any of them can do. Dean will die.

 

\--- --- ---

 

Dean had a fever the whole day and he woke up famished. He eats all the pancakes Sam brought him and drinks all the orange juice – grimacing and complaining, it’s true, but he drinks anyway – and he lies on his side and closes his eyes. “ ‘M gonna take a nap,” he says, already drifting off.

 

“Okay.”

 

“Sammy?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Thanks. Even if it… you know, if nothing works… thanks for trying.”

 

Sam nods, and his eyes are stinging, so he clears his throat and nods silently again. Shit, his brother is being all grateful, and Sam knows Dean only gets like that when he thinks he’s going to die. It’s his way of saying goodbye.

 

He sighs and goes to the library again, but he’s out of books to read and out of options.

 

He hears Cas’ and Hannah’s raised voices from the corridor and he stops. Oops, it looks like they’re fighting, so Sam turns to leave, but he hears Dean’s name, so he stays. He’s not nosy – well, not really – but it’s his brother they’re talking about.

 

“-Dean Winchester? You’re definitely insane, Castiel!” Hannah’s voice is angry. “The risk of what you’re suggesting is… immeasurable!”

 

“I’m already dying, Hannah!” Cas sounds exasperated. “Can’t you see? This could work! I don’t know why I haven’t thought of this before!”

 

“But… to give Dean Winchester your true Grace…? Wouldn’t it kill him too?”

 

“Not if we do it the right way. It’s nothing like what I’ve been doing now.”

 

“I don’t understand, Castiel.” Her tone is sad.

 

“Think about it. The only way to remove darkness is with light. The Mark of Cain is evil, and it’s there, deep inside him. But there’s one thing that’s been inside Dean’s soul... way before the evil of the mark.”

 

“Oh. It’s… it’s your Grace, isn’t it? You used it to remake him.

 

“Yes. I remade Dean’s every cell. I held his soul in my hands. It was very damaged when I raised him from Hell, and… I had to use some of my Grace to rebuild him. His soul recognizes me, it knows my Grace. If I give him my Grace… I believe it will purge the Mark of Cain from him, because it will occupy its place in his soul and… free him.”

 

“And you believe it will be simple like that?”

 

“Of course not. I will have to be careful. There was this time when I had to transport Dean and Sam back in time. You know it demands a lot of Grace to do that, but I did it, because they asked me to. But to bring them back, I was too weak. So, I used the power of Bobby Singer's soul to gain strength from it, and I was able to bring the Winchesters back."

 

Hannah's eyes widen in understanding. "You're going to do the opposite? Instead of drawing power from a human soul, you're giving it power from your own Grace? Isn't that dangerous?

 

Extremely dangerous. Too much Grace can kill him; he’s only human. But I have to try. I will touch his soul, but instead of taking power from it, I will be pouring power into it. I will pour light into his soul.”

 

“And that will cure him.”

 

“I believe so, yes.”

 

Sam hears a sigh, and he knows Hannah is not happy with this. “You know you can die. If Metatron isn’t lying and the remaining of your Grace is not much… you need to fully replenish it before you-“

 

“There’s no time!” Cas sounds impatient. “Dean is… with every convulsion, he gets weaker, and I think ‘this is the last time, I won’t be able to bring him back anymore’. And today he just… the fever… Please, Hannah, we need your help. I need your help. I can’t leave him. I need you to go to Metatron. I need you to try to find my Grace.”

 

There’s silence. Sam risks a look and sees that Hannah is sitting on an armchair, head raised, looking at Cas, who’s standing if front of her. His face is anguished, his eyes are sad. He’s pleading. Begging.

 

“Do you love Dean Winchester that much, Castiel?” Hannah whispers, and there’s sadness in her voice too.

 

Cas doesn’t hesitate. “Yes,” he says. “I love him. I would die for him and Sam.”

 

Sam knows it’s true. He never blamed Cas for destroying the wall inside his head, not really. That was not the real Cas, those were desperate times. Besides, Cas took the Devil from his head, didn’t he? And he got crazy in the process. Yes, Sam knows Cas would die for him and Dean. But he suspects that’s not what Hannah is asking.

 

“I know that,” she says. “But your feelings for Dean and for Sam are not the same, Castiel. I think… for Dean, you feel love, don’t you? Human love? Like all the human emotions we were talking about?”

 

“Hannah…” Cas says, and his tone is answer enough.

 

“All right. I will go to Metatron. But he will want a deal. He will want me to free him.”

 

“You know you can’t trust him. If he gets free he will want revenge.”

 

“I will think of something. Maybe Ambriel and Hadraniel will help me. They were sympathetic to your cause, back in Raphael's time.”

 

“I will ask Sam to drive you to Heaven’s entrance.”

 

“Very well.”

 

“Hannah… thank you. If Metatron escapes and if I… If I survive this, I promise you we will go after him.”

 

Sam runs as quietly as he can to the kitchen, before Cas comes after him to tell him about his idea. He feels a little guilty for listening to their conversation behind the door, like an old gossipy lady. But at least now they have hope.

 

He wonders what Dean will say about it, but he doubts Cas will tell him everything, and besides, it’s not as if Dean can stop Cas from doing whatever he wants. And Sam knows Cas will do anything, even die, if it ever comes to it, to save his brother.

 

Cas really loves Dean. He practically admitted.

 

Sam can’t say he’s surprised. It’s been painfully obvious, through all the years, since Cas entered their lives. Cas loves Dean. A lot. Over and over, Cas’ choices have always been for Dean, to help him, to save him. Even when he teamed up with Crowley and swallowed all those souls, it was to save humanity, to protect them against Raphael. Sam doubts Cas would have done the same if Dean wasn’t part of said humanity.

 

Well, shit.

 

And Dean… Sam has no idea about Dean’s feelings for Cas. But he had never seen his brother so out of it, so desperate and lost and… hopeless, than when they thought Cas had drowned and died. Dean thinks Sam didn’t notice that he kept Cas’ coat, and that once or twice, he would look at the sky and just… his eyes would even go a little moist, and he would do his best to hide it from Sam.

 

Yes, Sam is convinced that Cas’ feelings for Dean are not so unrequited. In his own way, Dean loves Cas back. The fact that Cas is a guy… well, Cas _isn’t_ exactly a guy. He’s an angel in a guy’s body. Sam knows, he _knows_ without any doubt that, if Cas had taken a woman’s vessel, Dean would have already made his move. There are too many stares between them, too many sacrifices, and every time Cas leaves, Dean goes all gloomy and angry, until Cas comes back again. Then, Dean pats his back and pretends that having Cas back is no big deal, but there’s a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips for days.

 

Sam knows his brother. All the signs have always been there. He just never saw them as clearly as he's seeing now.

 

And, he’s seen them lying on the bed face to face, not touching, but not far from each other, talking. It’s been happening a lot in the past week. Maybe Dean’s decided to throw caution to the wind and-

 

“Sam?” Cas enters the kitchen hesitantly. “I believe I found a way to cure Dean. But I… I need you to help me to tell him. He’s not going to like it.”

 

\--- --- ---

 

 

Dean props himself against the wall and all the pillows Castiel put there a while ago. He’s pissed at Cas and Sam, but he feels so weak and his chest hurts so much that he stays quiet, waiting for it to pass. Only, it won’t pass and he knows it, _everyone_ knows it. That’s why Sam went with Hannah to see Metatron: Cas is convinced that he can heal Dean by wasting his true Grave in removing the Mark of Cain.

 

Dean, on the other hand, knows better. He doesn’t believe in anything Metatron says and he knows the asshole will find a way to fuck with them all, even from behind the bars in Heaven. It’s been a day since Sam left and Dean is sick with worry.

 

“I don’t think it’s going to be easy,” Cas says, when he comes with food. “But he’s the only one who knows where my Grace is.”

 

“He’s gonna find a way to escape, you can bet on it.”

 

Cas sighs. “I know this is a strong possibility. But we need to try. My only regret is that I didn’t think of this before.” Cas sits on a chair by Dean’s bed and gives him a bowl of steaming soup. It smells good, but Dean is so nauseous and dizzy that he can’t eat, and he knows it’s a sign that he’s getting worse, that they’re running out of time.

 

“Can’t,” he says, pushing the bowl away from him and in Cas’ hands again.

 

“Don’t worry, I didn’t make this soup. Sam bought a lot of frozen food and taught me how to use the microwave oven.”

 

“It’s not that,” Dean takes a deep breath to drive the nausea away. “It’s… I can’t eat anything since this morning. Makes me wanna throw up.”

 

“You ate all your breakfast,” Cas frowns, puzzled.

 

“I didn’t,” Dean admits. “I threw it on the toilet when you went to the library.”

 

Cas grimaces. “You got up?”

 

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna run away. And yes, I got up, I’m not an invalid.”

 

“You need to save your energy.”

 

Dean rolls his eyes. “For what, exactly, Cas?” He takes another deep breath, and curses inwardly when he feels the chills coming back again.

 

“I…” Cas looks sad, defeated. He puts the bowl on the dresser and sighs. “I can’t let you die. I’m supposed to look after you. I should protect you. But I guess… this is one more thing I failed in doing. I guess I’m not too much of an angel anymore.

 

“Hey, hey, stop it. Don’t say that. You’re awesome, you hear me?”

 

Cas gives a short, humorless laugh. “You shouldn’t be comforting me. I am responsible for this, because I– “

 

“Stop it, Cas!” Dean says louder, and starts coughing, and it makes his chest hurt even more.

 

“I’m sorry,” Cas says, and he touches Dean’s forehead with one finger, making all his pain and sickness vanish.

 

“Fuck, Cas, don’t do that!” Dean says, exasperated. He pushes the covers down and gets up, towering over his friend, hands on his hips, face showing a conflict between anger and gratefulness. “You’re almost out off mojo! This thing you do, it doesn’t even last an hour anymore. And you look like shit. Do you wanna die?”

 

“Of course not. But I can’t see you in pain and… not do anything.”

 

Dean sits back on his bed. “Your stupid son-of-a-bitch. You think I want to see you weak and dying because you spent all your Grace with me?”

 

“I think we came to an impasse, because I don’t want to see you dying either.”

 

“Crap. Okay,” Dean says, defeated. “But you think I wanna die? I don’t, ‘cause I know I’ll just wake up a demon. If I could stay dead, it would be good for everyone, but we know it won’t stick.”

 

“It wouldn’t be good for me.”

 

“Cas…”

 

“Dean. let me say this, please. I always thought that, if you died, I’d just… go to Heaven so I could be near you. And if you went to Hell, I’d rescue you again; at least I’d try. But if you stay a demon… as a Knight of Hell, you’ll have a very long – and violent – life, and everyone you love will die. I’m the one who will have to stay – because we’ve already established that I can’t seem to let you go – and I’ll have to watch you murder the world. That’s not… something I want to see, ever.”

 

“Fuck, Cas, you’d stay? You wouldn’t flee to Heaven if you could? You’d stay behind?”

 

Cas smiles sadly. “Of course I would, even if you’d didn’t want to see me. I’d follow you from afar.”

 

Dean feels his cheeks very hot, and this time he knows it’s not the fever. “You – you can’t say that to someone, Cas.”

 

“Why not?” Cas frowns and tilts his head to one side. “It’s true.”

 

Cas is so naïve sometimes that it drives Dean crazy. The way he says that he would follow a demon Dean from afar, even after all his friends were gone… makes something clench inside Dean’s chest. He doesn’t deserve such an open affection. He doesn’t. “Because you can’t!” he says very loud.

 

Cas’ eyes widen and his face turns into a mask, impassive, like Dean has seen him doing so many times. “I’m sorry, I made you uncomfortable. It won’t happen again.” He shrugs, and his lips are in a thin line. “It seems I'm not good at being an angel, but I'm not too good at being human either.”

 

The angel gets up and grabs the bowl. Dean realizes that Cas misunderstood Dean’s self-deprecating stance with rejection. “Cas, it’s not that!” Dean hurries to say, but Cas shakes his head and opens the door.

 

“I’m going to take this to the kitchen. If you need anything… pray. Don’t shout. We don’t know how long Sam and Hannah are going to take and… you need to rest.”

 

\--- --- ---

 

When Cas leaves, Dean wants to slap himself. He should know that Cas would interpret his reaction as rejection, because Cas really sucks at being human. Or, he is an alright human, who has a vast knowledge of pop culture, but who has never lived a human life for too long, so he still interprets everything people say literally.

 

Part of him wants to go after Cas and explain that – that what? He has no idea what he’ll say, so it’s better that he stays where he is. Cas’ confession opened a can of worms inside Dean’s head and now he’s starting to wonder what will happen if he really stops to think about him and Cas as… he can’t put it in words. Friends seems inadequate, too little. But that’s all they are.

 

It took Dean years to admit to himself that his feelings for Cas go beyond platonic friendship. Dean has never been interested in guys; he’s always been a ladies’ man. But Cas is not really a guy, he’s in a guy’s body, and that’s totally different. Not that Dean cares. He’s way beyond thirty, if people don’t like him, or something about his life, they can go fuck themselves, he’s already given too much of his life so everyone can go on living theirs without a care in the world.

 

The point is… Dean likes the _real_ Cas. A lot. With all his awkwardness and his innocence and his fierceness and loyalty. And so much more. Dean likes the one _inside_ the guy’s vessel, and to say Cas is only a guy is almost an offense. Cas is bigger than everything, he’s light – although he has dark moments sometimes – he’s brightness and represents everything that’s good and well intentioned and right. Dean Winchester fell for the wavelength of celestial intent. The fact that said wavelength is inside a – very attractive – guy’s body is only a detail.

 

That’s how Dean sees it.

 

Anyways, all these… feelings, they’re good for nothing because Dean will die and be a bad guy and he’ll never know the taste of Cas’ chapped lips.

 

Uh. He’s thinking about kissing a – well, technically – guy. Who’d say, huh?

 

Dean snorts. This is bullshit. He can’t start thinking about this right now, because Sam is God knows where with an angel that definitely doesn’t like him, looking for what’s left of Cas’ Grace. Which he wants to spend in saving Dean from another one of his mistakes, something he did to himself. No one made him take the Mark of Cain.

 

He can’t let Cas pay for this. He _can’t_. God knows what will happen to Cas once he uses all his Grace. Dean is not one bit interested in finding out.

 

He knows what he needs to do.

 

\--- --- ---

 

The problem is that, even though he has a plan, Dean can only put it into practice, if he’s able to walk. Right now there’s fire in his veins and dark spots dancing in his vision. He doesn’t think he can make it to the kitchen, even less to the–

 

“Cas,” he prays. “I need you, buddy.”

 

Castiel comes running, banging the door open. “What is it?”

 

“Not sure, but it’s not a fever.” It’s hard to talk, his teeth are chattering. Dean grabs Cas’ arm. “Help me.”

 

He’s feeling like shit, that’s true, but he’s not that bad that he needs Cas’ help right now. He could wait for it to get worse, and save Cas' Grace at least for now, but he needs to do it now, while he’s still coherent. ‘Cause if Cas heals him, the way he’s already so low on mojo, it’ll put him down for at least a few minutes. That’s more than enough.

 

“Of course,” Cas says, and he raises his hand to touch Dean’s forehead. Dean grabs his hand and puts it in his own face, like Cas did in the crypt, when he beat the shit out of Dean. Cas frowns, but a second later, Dean is already feeling better.

 

Cas, on the other hand, closes his eyes, exhausted.

 

“Here, here,” Dean helps him lay on the bed. “Rest for a little bit, buddy.”

 

“Are you all right?” Cas asks, and only now Dean notices how pale he is, how there are dark circles around the angel's eyes.

 

He gives the best smile he can muster. “Peachy. Don’t worry about me. Rest.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Dean stays until he’s sure Cas is sleeping. He puts on his socks and shoes, grabs his jacket and looks at the angel, _his angel_ , once more. “I’m sorry. But I’m not sacrificing you to something that’s not worth it. I’m sorry.”

 

He wants to kiss Cas, but he doesn’t. That would be taking advantage of him. That’s all right. Where he’s headed to, Dean knows he won’t need any of these memories. Soon they won’t matter anymore.

 

Sam took the Impala. So Dean grabs Cas’ keys, sighing, because he’ll have to use that hideous car. He steps out of his bedroom, closing the door as he leaves. He puts his old leather jacket on and walks to the war room. Everything is quiet; half the bunker’s lights are off. Looking around once more, Dean goes up the stairs resolutely and leaves, closing the door firmly behind him.

 

\--- --- ---

 

 

 

Sam has no idea how Hannah managed to put him in Heaven without him being dead, but here he is, looking at Metatron. The scribe of God is in a straitjacket, behind iron bars. He’s lying on a small cot, but it’s easy to see he’s not sleeping.

 

“What do you want?” he says, as Hannah and Sam approach his cell. “Can’t you leave me here to rot in peace?”

 

“Metatron,” Hannah says. “We need your help.”

 

“Sorry, not interested. You can schedule an appointment with my secretary or maybe if you come back… never, I’ll see what I can do for you.”

 

“Metatron,” Hannah insists. “I need to know where Castiel’s Grace is. He needs it.”

 

“You think I care?” Metatron smiles, but he doesn’t move from his position. “Asstiel can die, for all I care. Didn’t he tell you to not come here anymore? You should respect a dying man’s wishes. Or should I say angel? Because your friend is a disgusting hybrid thing that’s so distorted that looking at him makes me sick. I don’t know how you handle it.”

 

“Metatron,” Sam says, and at the sound of his voice, the angel opens his eyes and turns his head in their direction.

 

“Sam Winchester?” He raises an eyebrow. “Well well well, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

 

“My brother is dying,” Sam says, “And Cas’ Grace is the only thing that can save him.”

 

Metatron gives a long, loud, annoying laugh. “You got to be kidding me! Dean Winchester is dead! I killed him myself!”

 

“He’s not dead,” Hannah says. “He bears the Mark of Cain in his arm, and it turned him into a demon when you killed him. Castiel and Sam cured him, but the Mark‘s hold on him is too strong. Castiel believes that– “

 

Metatron sits up abruptly and raises one hand. “Nah nah, don’t say another word. Let me guess: Asstiel thinks that he can use his Grace to cure Dean and remove the Mark of Cain at the same time?”

 

“Yes,” Hannah nods, and she gets closer, holding the bars of Metatron’s cell. “Is it true? Can Castiel’s Grace cure Dean and remove the mark?”

 

Metatron gives a huge smile. It’s frightening, even. He walks slowly to where they are. “It’s true, if Castiel’s Grace had already been in contact with Dean’s soul.“ Then his eyes light up, like a child on Christmas morning. “But of course! Our little brother used his Grace to help rebuild the Righteous Man! That’s perfect!”

 

“Perfect for what? “Sam asks. He’s not liking Metatron‘s expression one bit.

 

“For curing Dean, of course!” The angel laughs again. “So, our little brother has already been inside de hunter, who would’ve said?”

 

“This is not funny, Metatron!” Hannah says, irritated. “Can you help us or not?”

 

Metatron is practically shaking with glee. And Sam can’t understand why.

 

“Of course it’s funny, Hannah. It’s hilarious. And yes, I can help you. The question is: will I?”

 

“Where is Cas’ Grace?” Sam shouts, grabbing the bars too. He’s losing his mind, because he really, really wants to put an angel’s blade through Metatron’s heart, but right now he needs him and he’s absolutely sure the asshole will never tell him where he put Cas’ Grace.

 

“We’re not releasing you, if that’s what you want,” Hannah says. “But I’m willing to take this straitjacket off, if it helps. And I can bring you your… your books, to make your time here more bearable. Would you like that?”

 

Metatron’s face turns angry in a second. “And you think these small concessions would make me help you? Do you think I’m that stupid?”

 

“Please, Metatron. Please.” Sam says gritting his teeth. “We need the Mark of Cain off Dean’s arm. He’s going to die again, and he’ll just keep coming back, as a Knight of Hell, like Cain. Please. You were the scribe of God. You must have been a decent angel at some point. There’s not even the slightest trace of mercy inside you?”

 

Metatron looks at Sam for a long time, to the point that Sam gives up and looks at Hannah, shaking his head. “Let’s go,” he says. “It was a waste of time.”

 

Then, Metatron smiles again, a soft one this time, and that’s creepy as hell. “Of course, Sam. Since you asked me so kindly.”

 

“What?” Sam says. Because… what?

 

“Sam, you made me remember that I had a home once, a wonderful home, with my father and my brothers and sisters, and everything was good and just; before Michael and the Morningstar fought. When God created the world and banished the Darkness. It was good. It was pure. I was truly happy.”

 

“So, you’ll help us?” Hannah says.

 

“Of course I will. Maybe with this, you’ll see I’m not that bad. I will appreciate if you take me out of this terrible shirt. It hurts.”

 

She nods. “Consider it done.”

 

“Wait, is that all?” Sam can’t believe him; he _won’t_ believe him. This sounds like bullshit. This is the angel who killed his brother. Who wanted to be the new God. Sam knows what he is capable of. “What’s the catch?”

 

Metatron shakes his head sadly. “There’s no catch, Sam. I can be good sometimes. Thank you for making me remember that I was a good angel once.”

 

Sam looks at him and he can tell that something isn’t right, but they’re really out of time. “Where is it, then? Cas’ Grace?” he asks.

 

“Hannah, I hope you didn’t destroy my old office?” When she nods, Metatron goes on. “Castiel’s Grace is on the top shelf, behind a collection of Supernatural books.”

 

\--- --- ---

 

Cas’ Grace is really where Metatron said it would be. As soon as Hannah grabs the small flask, full of bright, swirling light, she smiles.

 

“It’s his, it’s Castiel’s. I can feel it.”

 

Sam smiles, relieved. He’ll think about Metatron later. When Dean is cured and Cas is all right, they’ll sit and talk and try to figure out why Metatron helped them, because that’s gotta be a catch. With Metatron, there’s always one.

 

The problem is that, when they arrive at the bunker, is to find it completely empty. They look everywhere, but there’s really no one there. Sam calls Cas, but Cas doesn’t answer. Hannah says she won’t risk praying, or the other angels will find him.

 

But in the war room, there’s a note in Castiel’s elaborate handwriting: “Dean disappeared. I’m going after him. C.”

 

\--- --- ---

 

 

Castiel is desperate, frantic. He doesn’t know what to do. He needs to find Dean before he dies.

 

When he woke up to an empty bunker, he realized Dean had played him. Dean knew he would be weak immediately after using his Grace, so he made Castiel use it, and when he slept, Dean ran away. And he took Castiel’s car.

 

He knows there are a lot of cars in the bunker’s garage, but they’re old and he doesn’t have time – or knowledge – to make any of them work. He contemplates using a motorcycle but he’s sure that driving a two-wheeler requires an experience he doesn’t have.

 

He needs to steal a car, then.

 

Lebanon is a small town, and the bunker is in a remote area of the city. So he walks until he finds a gas station and steals the first car he sees, when its owner stops to use the bathroom. He’s not proud of having acquired this ability, but he’s not concerned about this right now, especially when Dean is in danger.

 

Castiel doesn’t need to go far to find his friend. He drives on Route 281, heading south, and after one hour he sees his Lincoln Continental on the roadside. He stops right behind it and Dean is there, with his head resting on the steering wheel, and he seems to be asleep.

 

“Dean,” Castiel opens the driver's side door and crouches next to the hunter. Dean is very pale and drenched in sweat, and his breathing is shallow and irregular. Castiel’s first instinct is to cure him right away, but then he will be too weak to drive, and he needs to take Dean home as soon as possible.

 

He pats gently on his face to wake him up, and Dean opens his eyes and looks at him, but Castiel can see that he’s completely out of it. Seeing no alternative, Castiel carries him to the passenger’s seat and puts the seat belt on him. “I hope you don't mind to be subjected to my driving abilities.” Dean only looks at him with glazed eyes, and takes a shaky breath.

 

Castiel drives as fast as he can to the bunker, but here and there he puts his hand on Dean’s forehead to check for a fever, and it comes with a vengeance, making Dean’s pulse erratic and his breathing shallower. Dean starts shivering and he moans here and there. His eyes remain open, but it’s as if he’s not seeing anything.

 

When they’re almost reaching their destiny, Castiel realizes that Dean stopped moaning, and he looks at the man, only to see his head lolling to one side. Alarmed, Castiel stops on the roadside and puts his hand on Dean’s forehead. It’s cold. Dean’s not breathing. He has no pulse.

 

He’s dead.

 

“No, no, no,” Castiel looks around. There’s no other car on the road, no one to help him.

 

He does the only thing he can. He cradles Dean’s head between his hands and he gives him every bit of Grace he can muster, concentrating on making his heart start beating and his lungs start working again. He hopes it will be enough to bring Dean back. Because Castiel knows there won’t be another chance to save him.

 

With the last bit of Grace he sends Dean’s way, life leaves his body too.

 

\--- --- ---

 

Castiel wakes up. He didn’t expect to wake up. Confused, he opens his eyes slowly, and he realizes that he’s feeling much better. In fact, he feels like an angel again. Almost as if… Oh. His Grace, he can feel his true Grace inside him. It’s not much, but it’s his; therefore, it can be powered up again.

 

Sam must have found them. How, Castiel has no idea. He’s sure he died when he tried to bring Dean back from death.

 

Oh sweet Father in Heaven. Dean.

 

He sits up abruptly, only then registering he’s in Dean’s bedroom, on Dean’s bed. Dean himself is nowhere to be seen. Getting up, Castiel opens the bedroom door so hard it tears its hinges, and the door falls on the corridor.

 

“Dean!” he calls, running to the war room. If Sam got to him and Dean in time to give Castiel’s Grace back to him, it means he reached them right after Castiel lost consciousness. So maybe – maybe he helped Dean, maybe Dean is alive and well, and Castiel will find him in the kitchen with a big bacon cheeseburger in hand, speaking with his mouth full and laughing at Castiel for worrying so much.

 

But it’s Hannah that greets him in the war room. She looks small and lost, sitting at the huge table with the world’s map, her hear propped on one hand. “Castiel! How are you feeling?” she smiles when she sees him, but Castiel doesn’t have time to waste with pleasantries.

 

“Where’s Dean?” He looks around, but there is no sign of the hunter.

 

Hannah’s face turns serious. “Castiel…” she starts, and he can tell she’s trying to find words to tell him what he knows is bad news.

 

“Hannah,” he repeats, grabbing her by the shoulders and almost shaking her. “Where is Dean?”

 

She grimaces. “Downstairs. In the place you call dungeon.”

 

“Why?” Deep down, Castiel knows what happened. But he needs to hear it to believe it’s true.

 

“When we found you, you were almost dead. I opened the flask with your Grace and it flew immediately into you, but I think you were too weak, because you didn’t wake up, so we brought you here to recover.”

 

“And Dean?”

 

Hannah sighs. “He was leaving, walking down the road. Not too far. I think he was going to wait for a car to pass on the road and hitchhike. Sam ran after him and, with my help, we trapped him with the handcuffs; the ones with the devil’s trap on them.

 

Castiel knows the handcuffs. But that can only mean that –

 

“I’m sorry, Castiel.” Hannah shakes her head slightly. “But we arrived too late for Dean. When we got there, he was already a demon again.”

 

\--- --- ---

 

Dean is in the dungeon, the same place where Castiel and Sam cured him. He’s handcuffed to the chair, arms and legs tied, inside the Devil’s trap on the floor.

 

Sam is there, sitting on the table, holding an angel blade.

 

Dean is looking down, but as soon as Castiel enters, he raises his head and his eyes are black. He snarls and opens his mouth to speak, but Sam throws holy water on his face and he hisses in pain and anger.

 

“I told you, not a word,” Sam warns. Then he turns to Castiel. “We were waiting for you to wake up. You all right?”

 

Castiel can only nod. He can’t speak, there’s a lump in his throat. Dean stops hissing and looks at him, and there’s mockery in his smile and anger in his eyes.

 

“I think we can start, Sam,” Castiel is finally able to say.

 

“Oh, give me a break!” Dean says, and his eyes are still black. It makes Castiel want to vomit, even though he knows that’s not something angels do. “The two little princesses want to cure me? Really? And you think it will work?”

 

“Shut up, Dean!” Sam says.

 

“Let him talk,” Castiel says. “I don’t mind.”

 

“I’m not sure this is a wise thing to do, angel,” mocks Dean. “What would Sammy say if he knew what you said to me the other day?”

 

Castiel does his best to keep his face as neutral as possible. “That’s okay. I am not ashamed of the way I feel about you.”

 

“Oh, that’s soooo romantic!” And Dean laughs and laughs, and the cruel sound seem to cut through Castiel’s skin and get to his heart. But he’s not going to let it stop him. “I’m touched.”

 

“Cas, um…” Sam gets up and stops in front of Castiel, his back to Dean. “You want me to leave?” he whispers.

 

“Maybe it’s better if you do. There will be a lot of light, and your eyes…” Castiel trails off.

 

“Okay. I’ll wait in the corridor. Call me if you need me, all right?”

 

Castiel nods. “Thank you, Sam.”

 

When Sam leaves, Castiel doesn’t waste any time. He walks right into the Devil’s trap and stops in front of Dean. “This may hurt,” he says.

 

Dean snorts. “Do you even have the mojo to do this? You look pretty beaten to me.”

 

Castiel doesn’t say a word. He starts chanting in Enochian, asking his Father to guide him. His eyes start to glow, bright white-blue. In answer, Dean’s eyes flash black again and the demon bares his teeth.

 

“Poor Cas. You think I’ll want you? When this is over, you’re not welcome to stay here. Go away. Leave me alone; let me live my life in peace. I don’t want you here, in my home, watching my every move. You can pack up your pathetic feelings for me and shove them up your ass. I don’t care about you.”

 

Castiel closes his eyes and goes on, chanting in a low voice. He’s praying, asking for guidance, for strength and for protection; not for himself, but for Dean.

 

Dean doesn’t give up. “If you don’t kill me, that is. Because you don’t do anything right, do you? You destroy everything you touch, and now you’re going to destroy me.”

 

Castiel pretends he doesn’t hear.

 

Dean goes on. “You’re a poor excuse for an angel. You’ve never been more than a tool, but now we’re done, you hear me? Maybe without you around, things will start to work out again. I whish I’d never met you.”

 

Castiel stops praying. He kneels in front of Dean and cups the side of his face with one hand. Dean tries to turn his face away, but he can’t go far, because there are ropes tying his torso to the chair too.

 

“I do not care if you wish you never met me. For I will always cherish the day I met you. It was the day that everything in my life changed. All I've done since then was for you, _because_ of you. I had no idea of how beautiful human beings are, how perfect. You're perfect, Dean. Your soul shines brighter than anything I have ever seen, and even now, I can see the light shining between the shadows within you. I will always thank the fate that put you in my path because you made me experience love for the first time. For the only time, for there will be no other. I will love you forever, until the day I die. And if that day is today, that's fine. Because all I do for you will always be worth it.”

 

Dean doesn’t have time to retort, because Castiel buries his right hand on him, on his chest, like he did when he was looking for Sam’s soul. Dean screams and thrashes, but he can’t move much, so he keeps screaming.

 

Bright light explodes everywhere, as Castiel looks for Dean’s soul. And it’s there, a twisted, black thing, the Mark of Cain all over it. But there are bright spots amidst the blackness, as if Dean’s soul is fighting valiantly to remain alive, to not be consumed by the demonic power all around it.

 

Castiel concentrates and pours Grace into the dark patches, slowly, paying attention to not hurt the pieces that are _Dean_ , that remain as righteous and good as the day Castiel first saw him. Dean keeps screaming, anguish and despair and pain, so much pain, physical and emotional, and Castiel feels everything Dean feels; all the hurt, the self-hating, the worthlessness. He keeps pouring Grace in the dark, and slowly, bit by bit, the light starts to shine brighter, and the Mark of Cain starts to fade.

 

“Cas?” Dean says, and Castiel smiles, because here he is, the man he loves, the hunter, the brother, the friend Castiel admires so much. “Cas, stop it, you’re gonna hurt yourself,” Dean whispers, but Castiel only shakes his head no, and goes on. Dean screams again, when Castiel forces light into another dark corner, and there he is, face to face with the remnants of the Mark of Cain, buried deep right in the middle of Dean’s soul.

 

The mark is persistent; it appears to mock the angel, as if saying _“Is that the best you can do?”_ But as it raises its ugly head at him again, Castiel confronts the evil without hesitation or faltering

 

“I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.

My help cometh from the Lord, which made Heaven and earth.

He will not suffer thy foot to be moved: he that kept thee will not slumber.

Behold, he that kept Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep.

The Lord is thy keeper: the Lord is thy shade upon thy right hand.

The sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night.

The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil: he shall preserve thy soul.

The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth,

And even for evermore.”

 

Lightning crashes through the ceiling and strikes Dean’s forearm. His arm and the Mark of Cain glow red and crackle, and he screams in pain, but the Mark disappears with a loud pop. The lightning is blasted from Dean’s arm and goes back through the ceiling, and they can hear the noise it makes as it probably goes up through all the bunker’s floors, to the sky.

 

Slowly, Castiel removes his arm from Dean’s body, as they both moan in pain, weakness and relief.

 

Dean is free.

 

Castiel is happy, but he’s so low on Grace that he staggers, still kneeling on the floor, until strong arms envelop him in a hug.

 

“Cas, you damn fool,” Dean says, and Castiel buries his face on the crook of Dean’s neck and breathes in. “I’ve got you, it’s all right, you’re all right.”

 

“Dean…“ Castiel can barely speak, so dizzy and weak he is. “It worked.”

 

“It worked,” Dean echoes, and Castiel can feel the relief and the gratefulness in it. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I swear I didn’t mean any of that. I’ll always want you here; you’ll always be welcome. Please, believe me, Cas, I never want you to leave.”

 

“I know,” Castiel says, because he does, and even if it weren’t true, it wouldn’t matter, because _Dean is all right and human again._ “I believe you.”

 

“Good, that’s good,” Dean says, and then he holds Castiel’s face with both hands and looks him in the eyes. “Listen, uh… there’s something I need to tell you and… I’m not good with words, but…” Dean bites his lower lip, hesitates.

 

Castiel holds Dean’s forearms, bracing himself and looking at the green eyes he loves so much. “What is it, Dean?”

 

Dean blushes and gives Castiel a half smile. “Me too, Cas,” he says. “Me too.”

 

Castiel frowns, because he’s not underst– Oh. “You mean you…”

 

Dean nods vigorously. “Yeah. Me too. All those things you said about me, I… The day I met you was the luckiest day of my poor excuse for a life. You make it all better, lighter. The… the way you feel about me, I… I feel about you too.”

 

Castiel blinks and then widens his eyes in understanding, and Dean is close, so close, that it would be really easy to…

 

They lean to the kiss at the same time, and it’s just a soft press of lips, just a touch, because neither Castiel nor Dean know how to do this, but it’s wonderful and Castiel feels like he has, after a long, long time, finally come home.

 

Castiel, Angel of the Lord, has lived for millennia. And this is the best moment of his entire life.

 

“Cas? Dean?” The door opens and Sam comes in, sounding worried. “Is everything– holly shit!”

 

Dean bursts out laughing, and his hold on Castiel tightens. He laughs so much that there are tears in his eyes, and the sound is like music to Castiel’s ears.

 

He looks at Sam, who is very red and looking everywhere but at them. “Yes Sam, everything is all right.”

 

\--- --- ---

 

 

 

They have been living in a bubble for these past three days. The bunker seems brighter, lighter, and happier. There’s always laughter and music playing, and Dean has started to cook again and, even though Cas doesn’t need to eat – he’s all powered up, in full angel mode – he eats everything Dean makes.

 

They didn’t start hunting yet. Dean’s not sure when they will start to, because for now, he just wants to rest. He wants to explore this thing between him and Cas. They’re in the honey moon phase, even if they know each other for what, six, seven years? But it’s as if Dean’s getting to know Cas all over again.

 

Cas is a good kisser. Given that he’s had so little practice, Dean assumes he’s a natural talent. They’re still in the first base, but Dean’s not worried. They’ll get there.

 

Dean Winchester is happy. Cas is it for him. Who would’ve said?

 

The bang on the front door comes late at night. They all run to the war room and up the stairs, because, at this time, it can’t be anything good. But since ghosts, demons and all the things that go bump in the night don’t use to knock on doors, they open it.

 

On the other side, is Metatron.

 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Dean’s hands fly to Metatron’s neck and if not for Sam holding him back, he would’ve strangled the asshole right now.

 

Metatron looks like shit, disheveled and in torn clothes. He looks like a homeless old man, and okay, what a sad, sad figure he is right now.

 

“You’re human,” Castiel gasps.

 

“And you’re not,” Metatron retorts. “I came here because I want to talk to you.”

 

“What? No way, asshole, get away from my front door!” Dean snarls. “You killed me!”

 

“Well, you didn’t stay dead, so no harm done, right?”

 

Castiel puts a hand on the older angel’s arm. “Metatron, why are you here? Who did this to you?”

 

“The Darkness.”

 

“The what?” They all ask, in unison.

 

Metatron rolls his eyes. “Oh, you ignorant people.” He starts to talk with a low voice. “Before there was light, before there was God and the archangels, there wasn't nothing. There was the Darkness, a horribly destructive, amoral force that was beaten back by God and his archangels in a terrible war. God locked the Darkness away where it could do no harm, and he created a Mark that would serve as both lock and key, which he entrusted to his most valued Lieutenant, The Morningstar. But the Mark began to assert its own will, revealed itself as a curse, and began to corrupt. His lieutenant became jealous of man. God banished him to Hell. Luci passed the Mark to Cain, who passed the Mark to you, Dean Winchester.”

 

“And why should we care?” Dean says. “The Mark is gone. It’s not our problem anymore.”

 

“Oh, I’d say it’s very much your problem, because the Mark should not have been removed. It should have been passed to another, to ensure that the lock remained unbroken and the Darkness remained banned.” Metatron smiles, an evil, mocking smile.

 

“Wait.” Sam’s eyes are huge and frightened. “But the Mark of Cain wasn’t passed to anyone. It means that…”

 

Dean feels his insides turning cold. “You can’t be serious. This… Darkness, this thing… it’s free?”

 

Metatron nods. “Free, alive and kicking.”

 

“You knew this.” It’s Castiel’s turn to lose his temper. He grabs Metatron by the collar of his tattered shirt and shakes him. “You knew this, that’s why you gave Sam and Hannah my Grace so easily. You knew we would set the Mark free and unlock the Darkness.”

 

“Cas, Cas, stop!” Sam pries Cas’ hands away from the angel’s shirt and neck. “He’s not worth it.”

 

Cas releases Metatron reluctantly. “You don’t understand, Sam, the Darkness, it’s… it’s pure evil! It eats souls. It leaves a path of destruction everywhere it goes. And there’s no one in the world capable enough to fight it.”

 

“Thank you again, Sam,” Metatron says, looking offended. “Yes, I knew what was going to happen. I knew you stupid, imbecile creatures would set the Darkness free. And I thought she would be grateful! Because _I_ released her, not you! My plan, my idea! And you know what she did? She took out my Grace, and she threw me in the middle of nowhere, and I had to walk and beg and hitchhike so I could come here.”

 

“You asshole,” Dean snorts. “You’re wasting your time. We’re not gonna help you.”

 

“I didn’t come to ask for help, you idiot. I came to watch.”

 

“To watch what?”

 

“The Darkness, of course. She said Dean was the one who released her, and she’s eternally grateful. She decided to pay him a visit.”

 

Dean looks at Sam and Cas. “Oh God.”

 

Metatron smiles and leans on the door. “God is MIA, he’s unable to help anyone at the moment, don’t you think? So I think you better run, boys, because there’s no way to stop her. The Darkness is coming.”

 

 

THE END

 

 

 

 Psalm 121:1 - I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help./ My help cometh from the Lord, which made Heaven and earth./ He will not suffer thy foot to be moved: he that kept thee will not slumber./ Behold, he that kept Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep./ The Lord is thy keeper: the Lord is thy shade upon thy right hand. /The sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night. /The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil: he shall preserve thy soul. /The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth,/ And even for evermore.”

 

What Metatron said about the Darkness, you all know it was Death that said those things. I even used Death's words. I just wanted to link this story to season 11, so I made Metatron say it.  I hope you guys understand.


End file.
